


Red Spot in the Darkland

by finsterhund



Category: Heart of Darkness (Video Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, Interspecies Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finsterhund/pseuds/finsterhund
Summary: After Andy is devoured alive by one of the ravenous boulder worms in the deadly Darkland swamps, he is rescued by a mysterious winged dog known only as "Red" and the two continue Andy's quest to rescue Whisky from the clutches of the terrible Master of Darkness. But this adds many a complication as the two must develop an efficient means of communication in order to work together.





	1. A New Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This story is slightly implied to be a follow up to the infamous "striped socks fic" which is no longer publicly available online. However, it shares minimal things in common with the fic aside from Andy being saved from the same fate the original story ended off with. The canon inconsistencies also aren't present. His socks are white and devoid of red stripes.  
> Apologies for writing my original character into the Heart of Darkness story.  
> The main meat of this chapter was given an editorial pass over by Fishytales37.

Deep within the savage jungles of the Darklands, a group of chattering shadow specters were scattered about a clearing. Several had donned an article of clothing from an ill-fated child who had fallen victim to a gray, chittering boulder worm that still hung lazily from its lair, contentedly swallowing the weakly squirming Earth boy. The specters jeered and pranced excitedly, peeved at the worm’s fortune in capturing the boy before they had gotten the chance, but despite this, were immensely entertained at seeing the youth suffer a grisly death. Within the worm’s stifling, suffocating gullet, the boy’s—Andy was his name—last frantic thoughts before his world went dark were of his beloved dog Whisky.

Suddenly, a deep, resonating snarl echoed through the trees. The specters squealed in alarm and the worm tensed, twisting its body in an effort to hurry the consumption of the boy. A massive black blur, slick and agile, swooped down from the canopy of branches and roiled the foliage on the swamp floor as it landed with a forceful thump. The creature was larger than a horse, dripping with an ebony slime as the specters did, and resembled a very slender dog. The beast held its head high in dominance before opening its powerful black jaws and roaring at the specters. The much smaller shadow creatures screeched with fear, never having seen an entity quite like this before. It smelled as they did, and resembled them in texture but there was a power in it that they knew not. The thing’s eyes blazed a fiery red as it snarled at them again before directing its attention upon the worm. Like a well-oiled machine, the shadowy hound’s muscles flexed and it lunged with cat-like agility, the might of its stride propelling it up the cliff face and onto the creature. Broad paws tore into the slimy skin of the worm and sharp hooked claws held them fast. The canine roared again, sable slime spattering from between pearly sharp teeth as it thrust its head down, burying its jaws into the worm’s flesh. The worm began to twist and thrash about, racked with pain as the many dagger-like fangs pierced its body, and tried to retreat into its borehole within the rock. But despite the worm’s strength—its body composed almost entirely of muscle—the creature that assailed it was not to be deterred. The obsidian cur’s teeth held firm, and if its jaws would not give, then something else would. The canine, sensing the strength of its enemy, tightened the vice-like grip of its mandibles and forced the worm down with its paws before jerking its head back in a swift motion. The sound of rending flesh and the squishy squelch of freely flowing bodily fluids could be heard as the worm was gutted, the entire side that the canine creature had gripped being torn from the worm’s body.

Amid the ooze and viscera of the worm, Andy’s limp form—unconscious, unmoving—suddenly became visible. He lay deathly still and did not even appear to be breathing. Deftly, the canine tossed aside the strip of worm flesh and bent its savage looking black muzzle down to grip the boy in its jaws, the hound letting its tongue slather along the youth’s unresponsive body. It growled possessively, then rammed its front legs into the newly opened insides of the massive worm, shifting the fleshy gore aside to better grip the boy in its jaws. The canine seized Andy around his midsection, the boy’s arms flopping by his head on one side of the hound’s mouth and his feet dangling out from the other. The obsidian creature’s fangs—manipulated deftly as if with surgical precision—gripped Andy firmly yet did not draw blood or even bruise the skin. The canine now spun around to face gibbering shadow specters that had begun to back away from the snarling monster, trilling nervously among themselves in their odd language. They did not want to provoke the mysterious beast before them, but unfortunately for the shadows, it did not seem to have any restraint. The specters were in possession of one of Andy’s sneakers, his hat, neckerchief, and brown shorts, for they had decided to be content with his clothing if they were unable to devour the boy themselves. As such, they were covered in the boy’s scent. The canine set Andy down, then lunged at the specters, easily crushing the shadows one after the other with its teeth. The beast lapped up Andy’s clothes as it did, the black slime-covered garments disappearing into the canine’s voracious maw. Once nothing other than the boy remained, the canine returned to Andy and growled, bending its head down to collect the limp form once more back into its jaws. The fearsome beast then turned its head skyward, bright red eyes gleaming as it pondered for the briefest of moments as to where to take its prize before launching itself up into the trees.

Like a panther, the coal-black canine leapt from tree to tree, landing expertly as it hooked its great clawed paws around a bough before lunging again. The speed at which the creature could move was otherworldly. With a soggy, tearing sound, something pulled away from the withers and flank of the canine, the slimy black secretions coming away with it. Concealed beneath the sable slime were a pair of leathery wings. The creature feverishly beat its wings several times without success until it had shaken off enough of the black secretion to allow flight, and it then shot upward in a furious blast of wind. The creature roared again, the vibrations causing the boy held in its teeth to shudder and shake, and then it was clear of the swamp’s trees, soaring ever higher with every powerful beat of its leathery wings. The canine was smooth and fast in flight, despite the hindering slime on its wings and the boy held in its jaws. On thermals of warm air, the hound glided high without the need to repeatedly flap its wings. The creature gazed at the world below, keen eyes trying to make sense of the unfamiliar landscape.

As the winged hound soared above the swamp land, it attracted the attention of numerous winged specters, sent by their master to search for the young boy. They viewed the creature with its slimy black form and leathery black-and-red wings as akin to themselves, but far larger and stranger than any other one they knew of. Visible to them was the limp form of the boy that waved like a wind-whipped white flag in the creature’s jaws. The winged specters screeched and screamed in their bird-like chorus and pursued the flying canine as it drifted on the updraft. The rushing of the wind and the already thick smell of the shadows masked the approach of the winged specters, and too late did the canine realize that new enemies were closing and surrounding it from all angles save directly in front. Snarling, it twisted its head back to eye its pursuers with fiery hate. The winged specters then produced orange balls of flame from their clawed hands, hurling them at the canine and boy it held. Growling, the winged dog changed the pattern of its flight, twisting down and around to avoid the barrage, holding its head down to deliberately shield its limp passenger from the fiery assault. Despite its valiant efforts, there were far too many specters for the canine to avoid while still ensuring that Andy was protected from their attack. The first few fireballs glanced off the slippery black slime coating the beast, doing minimal if any damage, but not long after—with its head turned away to shield the boy—a well aimed fireball struck the creature in the temple, causing it to plummet from the heavens. If the blast had not been enough to render it unconscious, the free fall to earth surely would have finished the job. Boy and dog plunged from the sky, the winged canine spinning wildly as its body was buffeted by the wind, but its vice-like jaws never let go of the boy. The two fell for an agonizing minute, till they struck the surface of a swiftly flowing river with a thunderous force. The impact from hitting the water was enough to shock the stunned creature back to consciousness, and it immediately took a sharp intake of breath to refill its lungs emptied from the force of the collision. As the river flowed around the canine, the black slime began to wash away, revealing short, sleek, shining, obsidian-like black fur, with brown markings above its eyes, muzzle, paws, and chest. The hound beat its waterlogged wings and kicked its long lean legs, but exhaustion had set in, and beast could make no headway against the strong current. Riding the flow, the dog held the boy above the surface of the water as they were carried toward a series of rapids and a waterfall …

* * *

Andy stirred, slowing becoming aware of the cool breeze on his cheeks, and ever so gradually the boy began to awaken. He was lying on his back along the banks of a river, with round pebbles rubbed smooth and even by the force of erosion pressing into the pale skin of his midsection. Every muscle in Andy’s body ached. He couldn’t bring himself to move, not even his arms. Even wiggling his fingers and toes resulted in excruciating pain. The boy was clad only in his shirt, socks, and white briefs. All of his other clothes were nowhere to be found. As he slowly became more alert, he wondered what happened to the rest of his clothing before the memory of the events prior came flashing back: the trip on his homemade spacecraft; the quest for his dog; the shadow specters; that horrible, wretched worm and its dark, stinking, slimy gullet. Andy sobbed, still terrified at the prospect of being eaten whole, yet here he was, in pain but alive. The boy wondered if it all had been a dream—nightmare—but the skin on his arms and hands felt as if they had been rubbed raw from what surely must have been the digestive acids of the worm. If that had been the case, why was he alive? Where was he now? What had happened? Andy moaned in pain, trying to summon enough strength to push himself up into a sitting position, but his body refused to comply, leaving the boy shivering pitiably on the damp, cold ground.

“Nhhhhhgghhh … W-Whisky …” he whimpered, trembling and shutting his eyes tight. It was dusk, and the stars could barely be seen through thick black clouds. Andy desperately wanted to be reunited with his dog, but with him lying here weak and defenseless, it seemed like that would never come to pass.

Andy did not detect any footsteps, heard no growls, yet there was a deep, soft breathing nearby. The boy stopped, lying perfectly still as he listened to the newly arrived sound. It was like some great bellows: slow, deep. Andy opened his eyes and looked down toward the river for the source of the sound. Against the darkening sky was a lean, black shadow: A beast that stood on four legs with long pointed ears erect atop its head, little visible of its form save for burning crimson eyes. The creature approached, panting heavily, dragging something long and limp alongside it. Andy shuddered, staring in horror at the advancing terror. He could not run, he could not fight, he was incapable of even movement. All that was left—weak and and soft—was his voice. “P-please … N-no … “

The creature stopped, cocked its head slowly to the side, and the red of its eyes narrowed, pupils contracting so the crimson of its irises narrowed to expose yellow sclera, the added depth of its eyes bringing an intelligence to the once primal stare. The creature let out a soft huff and moved nearer, only this time slower and with a gliding gentleness. It leaned in closer now, and Andy felt a soft wet nose press against his cheek. The only scent left by the river were Andy’s own, the rot from the shadows no longer able to confuse the canine nor cloud its judgment. Soon after, Andy felt the breaths along his face and down along his neck and chest, the canine moving as if to check for blood or abnormality. It continued to move along the boy’s body until the creature was thoroughly familiarized with Andy’s scent and convinced that he had suffered no grievous injuries. Then, with a lurching gag, it spat up first Andy’s cap, followed by the rest of his clothing and shoes, spilling them over the boy’s chest along with gobs of drool and slime. Once the boy’s clothes had been emptied from the back of the creature’s throat, the canine’s tongue rolled out heavily from between parted jaws and Andy’s still limp and exhausted form received a thorough licking. Though Andy was used to dog breath, the sheer size and strength of this creature was overwhelming. As the tongue lapped over his face and neck, the boy struggled to take full breaths, gasping whenever he could get air. Despite the creature’s size, it remained gentle, poised, delicate. Andy felt himself drifting off to sleep again as the canine groomed him, filling his cold, aching body with a soft warmth while making short work of what little grime or ooze remained from the worm. Soon Andy was breathing softly, his only movement the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

When Andy awoke, the pain in his body had significantly lessened and the sky was much brighter, indicating that the night had passed. Bruised and battered, but with nothing broken, he weakly pushed himself up into a sitting position from where he lay, atop a makeshift bed made from exotic leafy boughs piled upon the ground. _“Where …Where am I?”_ Andy wondered, groaning as he clutched his throbbing head. The boy saw that his shorts had been laid out on top of his legs, and his red sneakers were below his feet. Thinking this weird, he glanced around and discovered his cap and neckerchief hanging from a tree branch.

“W-what?” the boy mumbled, confused and somewhat alarmed by the situation. He remembered once again the worm and the … The youth stopped, holding still as he listened, looking around to see if the creature was still in the vicinity. Andy knew that the thing had licked him until he had fallen asleep; had it also been the one who had saved him from being eaten by the worm? He could catch no sight of the creature, but not far from where he sat he saw a strange, large metal circle—like a medallion or diadem—a shining, golden piece with what looked like a red star-shaped gem—dangling?—from the surface. Andy was intrigued. The boy slowly pushed himself upright, slipping on his now dry shorts and pulling down his cap and neckerchief to put those on as well. Socked feet rustling the leafy bed below him, he slowly approached the metal object, reaching out to touch the strange fixture at its center when—

A throaty growl caused Andy to spin about to face the source of the noise. Standing tall and lean in the daylight was a horse-sized winged dog. The thing was sleek and fierce-looking with fiery red and yellow eyes, and with deadly looking exposed fangs. One of the dog’s wings was dragging along beside it. The dog locked its gaze with Andy before directing his line of sight down to the object he had been reaching for, and then back up to him again. Again the canine growled.

“I-is … is this yours?” Andy squeaked in alarm, gesturing toward the thing with one hand, still staring up at the dog. In response came a slow nod and a soft whine. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t know.” Andy mutely broke eye contact with the dog and slowly moved away from the thing, observing as the dog lowered its guard as a result. _“He … he can understand me?”_ Andy asked himself softly while he chanced a glance back up to the dog’s face, turning pale when he realized that the creature was still staring at him.

“Uh… ummm.” Andy shuffled nervously back and forth, looking at the dog. “Thank you for saving me.” He waited for some sort of recognition, but the dog tipped its head to the side, as if confused. “I-I’m Andy.” The winged dog cocked its head back to the opposite side, letting out another soft whine. Andy frowned, then pointed at himself with both hands. “Andy.”

The winged dog’s eyes lit up and it nodded again, then slowly, with a soft child-like voice cloaked in canine ferocity, it repeated, “An-dy” and gestured with a paw toward the boy.

“YES!” Andy exclaimed, a huge grin spreading across his weary face. “Good job!” The winged dog pulled its lips back in an awkward, happy smile and moved back and forth a little, shifting body weight among its left and right paws. Andy, now feeling much more comfortable in the presence of this winged dog, could finally get a good look at him. There were golden brown markings throughout the winged dog’s body, including patches on the chest and “socks” halfway up each paw, little “kiss spots” were on each of the dog’s curving cheekbones, and his entire lower muzzle was brown like a mask. Andy noted that there were little spots above the dog’s eyes that looked like little eyebrows. Andy could not see the back of the dog, but guessed that he had a short tail, or perhaps none at all. Whenever the dog moved his head, the erect triangular ears wobbled a little and flopped about. He certainly looked less frightening in the daylight, but no less intimidating.

“So…” Andy broke the silence apprehensively. “You have a name?” Again, the dog tipped his head to one side and Andy felt his frustration growing slightly. But Andy was a very quick learner.

“You can't understand my language can you?” Again, the dog tipped his head in the other direction, whining and startling Andy with a loud frustrated bark.

“Andy…” the boy pointed at himself again. “You?” He gestured at the dog. Several barks followed as the winged dog trotted back and forth in front of Andy. Its bright eyes looking around for something. Finally it singled out Andy’s bandana and with a rough push that almost knocked the boy over, prodded at the garment several times.

“Well… your name isn't neckerchief…” Andy mumbled giggling slightly. He tipped his own head slightly to the left, looking up into the dog’s eyes. Another whine followed and the dog unfolded his unbroken wing, pointing at the vibrant crimson membrane between the slender wingbones.

Andy was puzzled for a second, but he understood before the dog moved up to him again to gesture at both the bandanna and the membrane in his wing.

“Red! They're both red! Is that your name? This color?” Andy asked, holding up his bandanna, then tipping back his hat to point at the underside of the brim.

Happy delighted barks followed. The dog began to prance about excitedly before lowering his front paws with his backside in the air in the all too familiar canine display of friendship and play, gesturing to the tiny stub he had for a tail so that Andy could see it was wagging.

“Your eyes are also red.” Andy concluded and gave him a tentative scratch below the chin, grinning as the wagging continued. “And so’s the mechanism on your collar.”

Red barked once, sitting alertly and looking into Andy’s face.

Interacting with Red had been a welcoming change of pace to Andy’s other experiences in the darkland, but once the initial excitement of being able to speak to his new winged dog friend had for the most part worn off, Andy was reminded painfully about who he was here for.

“Whisky…” Andy’s voice broke and he caught himself in a sob. Red immediately got up, concern washing over his face as he pushed his massive muzzle into the palm of Andy’s hand.

“Red, I'm going to try to explain something to you.” Andy said slowly, hoping that the dog knew SOME words in a human language. Red studied Andy’s face intently, trying to make sense of the words.

Andy grabbed a small but sturdy branch off the ground and began to draw in a particular sandy part on the side of the river. From memory he scraped out the likeness of Whisky, down to every visible spot and the way his ears flopped over his shoulders. Red watched Andy draw, nodding slightly and barked.

“Whisky.” Andy gestured to the drawing. Red slapped a front paw down on the image soon afterward.

“Wwhhhhsssskaahh.”

“Yes.” Andy nodded. He then scuffed away the drawing with his foot and drew again in the silt, depicting what he hoped was an accurate enough image of one of the winged spectres flying off with his dog. Andy gestured at the picture, hoping Red would get the message. The winged dog responded with a throaty growl and baring his fangs at the drawing, deliberately clawing up the winged spectre part of the image with both paws in a digging motion.

Andy broke off in tears, trembling and clenching his fist, whimpering Whisky’s name over and over. Red continued to growl, shuddering angrily.

“Whhhissseeee…” Red fumed, pacing around Andy and kicking up dirt with every hostile footfall.

“Here…” Andy took off his hat and held it upside down to Red’s muzzle. The winged dog needed no further explanation. He pressed his nose hard into the fabric of the hat, sniffing deeply. Though water, drool, and other scents could wash away traces of smells, Whisky had worn the hat enough that the faint scent of the earth dog was still clear enough that Red could imprint upon it. Continuing to sniff for about thirty seconds, Red suddenly snapped his head up and surveyed the landscape around him, nostrils flared. He stood as still as a statue, ears like skyward facing daggers for what seemed to Andy like forever before his eyes widened, and Red threw his head back, letting out a piercing, hauntingly forlorn and vengeful howl.

Whisky was alive. That was clear. Andy even had the vague idea of where he was. When climbing to the outside of the Canyon of Death he had seen a winged spectre carrying a suspiciously dog-sized burlap sack to the unmissable imposing castle at the center of an otherwise barren hellscape. Andy was sure that whoever ruled this land resided there, and had stolen Whisky away for an unknown purpose. Now that he no longer had a high vantage point to see the castle, Andy had gotten lost. If not for Red, even if he had never come across that horrible worm Andy was sure he would have not been able to make it to that castle in time.

Red was distraught. The winged dog had remained stationary just as he had been moments before, every so often he would throw back his head again and emit another heartbreaking and condescending howl. Andy was still apprehensive to try and push or distract the dog, so he made no move to stop him, but he was worried both for Red’s emotional well being as well as them remaining hidden from the droves of monsters that Andy was thankful seemed to have lost his trail. Moving over to the amulet-like collar that belonged to Red, he found that now he could pick it up without Red snarling at him. He could tell Red was aware of him so close to it because of one ear alertly swiveled in his direction. Andy attempted to lift the strange object but it was incredibly heavy. It took Andy’s full body strength as well as proper lifting at the knees for him to pull it down to the ground so he could study it further. What he previously thought was a crystal or gemstone embedded in the metal now appeared to also be some sort of machine. It was most certainly alien, and the intricate craftsmanship was far beyond anything Andy had ever seen before, but he could tell that it was visibly broken in a very specific way. Several pieces had come loose from each other, and in turn that made it loose from the rest of the collar. Andy was confused by the strange parts but was confident that he could at least put them back together.

“Red…?” He called out to the winged dog, surprised when Red stopped howling and sullenly trotted over, looking at what Andy was doing from behind.

“I think I can fix this.” Andy said matter-of-factly, fiddling with his finger inside the device. Red leaned his head in close and sniffed the area, licking Andy on the face then licking his nose before pulling back. Andy let out a little giggle. “Hey stop that!” But he didn't mean it. Red obviously didn't understand the words but he knew that Andy wasn't angry at him from tone.

“See… I'll just take this here…” Andy pulled a small Phillips head screwdriver from the back pocket of his shorts and gently eased it into the crack in the device. “If I pry this one part up next to the other and--” a bright flashing spark interrupted the boy with a yelp. The screwdriver’s metal end deepened to a sooty black and then when Andy pulled backward the movement was enough to cause the fried metal to disintegrate. Andy’s mouth hung wide in shock. The pieces closed back together with several sputters but remained still.

“Did it work?” Andy looked over to Red. Red whined and shook his head. Placing a heavy paw on Andy’s shoulder as if you say “well at least you tried.”

“Hey, at least it's more secure now at least.” Andy shrugged, and Red lifted the amulet to slip it on over his head where it rested around his lower neck and chest.

Andy directed his attention now to Red’s left wing that was hanging limp.

“Is it broken? You know… knnnkkcchhh!?” Andy made a jerking motion with his arm as he imitating a cracking noise. Red made a shrugging motion with his front paws and sat down, slowly using a paw to spread the clearly tender and aching wing open.

One of the thin bones, the middle “finger” of the wing and close to the top seemed to have swollen with a large bruised lump. The wing hung strangely, but beneath the flesh the bone appeared straight.

“I'm not a doctor, but I'll be gentle.” Andy walked over to where Red sat, very very cautiously reaching a hand out to the delicate wing. Small human hands proved effective for Andy to gently spread the skin far enough to see the bone more clearly. There was a considerable amount of bruising, and the membrane had clearly been twisted. Andy was reminded of what happened when an umbrella was opened in a wind storm, the way the waterproof material twisted back and away from the buffeted skeleton. He grimaced. Andy slowly put pressure onto the swollen area, freezing in alarm as it resulted in a deep guttural growl. Red’s ears were flattened as he twisted his neck to stare at Andy.

“It's okay… I'm just seeing if the bone is okay.” Andy tried to make his voice sound as universally trustworthy and calming as possible. Red continued to stare with his ears flattened and lips pulled away from shiny white teeth. Andy began again even slower, prodding up the swollen area. The muscle and tendons were very inflamed, but the bone felt sturdy and unbroken beneath. Red growled softly again, and Andy pulled away.

“Shhh, it's okay.” Andy petted Red along his neck and gave him a scratch behind his ears, standing on tiptoe in order to reach, even though Red had already lowered himself closer to the ground. Red’s ears slowly perked up again and when Andy leaned over to check his back he noted that the stub was wagging again.

“You're gunna be okay.” Andy said softly. “You just need to not use your wing for a while. One time I was testing the elevator in my treehouse and I slipped. It happened to my ankle and that's what mom told me.” Andy frowned, remembering Red couldn't understand his words, but Red was still politely paying attention to what he was saying anyways.

“Do you have a mom?” Andy knew he would never get an answer, but he had missed talking to Whisky in this way, speaking to the dog as if he could understand, not expecting him to ever answer. “I miss mine. She's back home on Earth. I miss Whisky too. I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't save him.” Red recognized Whisky’s name and rested his muzzle comfortingly on Andy’s shoulder, giving him a sympathetic whine as if to say “we’ll get him back. You'll see.”


	2. Waning Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude away from our heroes, the Vicious Servant finds himself in hot water for continuing to keep his master waiting. Very short sloppy chapter. My apologies. Planning to rewrite later.

Even as Andy and Red shared a momentary experience of peace and tranquility after a gripping event, the castle at the Darkland’s center was a hub of activity. The heavily enforced lair of the Master of Darkness had not seen a threat in many centuries, but now the prospect of a boy from Earth that had seemingly in a way “gotten loose” in the kingdom had raised morale in the usually uneventful lives of the various forms of spectre that resided therein. While the Master had made sure to make it crystal clear that the boy was  _**his** _ , the feral spectres still hoped for the opportunity to catch the intruder alone and out of the view of their tyrant leader. The prospect of quenching their eternal hunger even for a moment with such tender and fresh meat made them giddy and bold. The shadowy creatures scampered around in the slimy wet passages of the lair and screeched in their excitable voices, which largely went unnoticed save for the Vicious Servant who quickly grew tired of the unruly behavior. 

Vicious rested on a mountainous mass of some sort of slime-like substance. His flabby pink body was sprawled outwards in a slothful display of squalor. The pink creature was surrounded by messy bones, many still with shreds of bloody meat clinging to them in sporadic patches. A couple spectres pranced around him, screeching with an obnoxious pitch as they scrapped over a particularly large bone, a fibula if one were observant. The spectres clawed at one another, each gripping the bone from opposite ends in their jaws and reefing back and forth in a game of tug of war. Vicious’ brow furrowed as he glowered at the two, eyes burning into them though still too lazy to get up from where he lay

“Would you two SHUT IT!?” Vicious screeched at them in a sudden burst that sent the spectres skittering away, leaping and jumping over the textured terrain and each other to get away and distant enough that they were barely visible amid the murky shadows, save for their glinting chartreuse eyes. Vicious laughed to himself, picking up the discarded bone and twisting it back and forth in his grip, absently playing with it to pass the time. Lost in his own thoughts, Vicious dreamed of power, having more authority than simply a referee to these inferior creatures. Suddenly interrupted however, by a violently shuddering command that demanded his presence. It was certainly enough of a threat in itself for the creature to leap up in alarm, eyes wide and startled as he scrambled to answer the summon, glaring daggers at the spectres who returned to their game as he left, laughing at him all the while.

Vicious ran though the main corridor and out onto the sweeping stone bridge. He threw himself forward, down into a lowly bow.

“Master, as I…”

“I do not have time for your usual theatricsss…” Vicious cringed, cut off mid sentence. The Master of darkness towered above him, eyes flaming with rage and hate. More so than on a good day.

“Twelve hours I have waited for the boy to be brought to me.” Vicious grimaced, fully anticipating that the subject of this discussion would be about the human again.

“The spectres are doing all they can, your royal darkness. I s-swear…. I can do no more.”

“That may be, but if I must wait for much longer you shall share his fate.” Vicious swallowed hard.

“P-please… I'm sure that even if they don't catch him… he'll come here on his own. To get the dog.” Vicious grovelled, trembling on his belly and whimpering audibly.

“I hope for your sake…” the Master hissed, moving back away from his pathetic servant, raising the platform on which he hovered.

“Yes… yes yes.” Vicious slowly crawled backward, shuddering from trunk to toes as he did so. It was so easy for his Master to knock him down a peg. The soured pink creature silently cursed the shadowy overlord, wishing more than anything for his demise.

Vicious continued to scurry backward, painfully aware that he was still being glared at from the opposite side of the chamber. Only when he was finally out of the keen and militant sight of the Master did he finally pick himself up off the ground and dust off his rubber-like skin.

“One of these days…” he bared broken teeth and slid away into the smaller passages of the lair, the faint squeaking sound of his movements echoing against vacant walls.

  
  



End file.
